


Waiting for Life

by kcollinsp



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 17:02:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3297812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcollinsp/pseuds/kcollinsp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Swimming is a sport that Blaine's good at, and one that Kurt loves. Blaine and Kurt are swimmers at Northwestern University, a freshman and junior respectively, experiencing the grueling life of varsity student-athletes. Kurt is not interested in commitment; Blaine convinces himself that he isn't either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When he is five years old, Blaine Anderson is put into his first swimming lesson. He’d been looking forward to this moment for over a year, waiting until he could finally be let out into the water by himself. Spending his summers on Martha’s Vineyard had fostered Blaine’s love for the ocean; his nanny, Jessica, taking him down to the beach every day to build sand castles and boogie board and marvel at the vastness of blue that is the Atlantic Ocean.

 

The first lesson, of course, doesn’t go as planned. One of the boys accidentally kicks him in the ribs, and he has to sit out for a few minutes until the pain subsides. But, then he starts to cry because his ribs hurt and he just wants to go back into the water and where is him mom, and…and then the other boys laugh at him.

 

Blaine doesn’t go back to swimming lessons for another year and a half.

 

By this time, he should been behind for his age, but Cooper’s occasional help in teaching Blaine the basics during the summers, keeps him ahead of his peers.

 

Blaine is nine when he finally went to his first Junior Olympics. His whole family, even Cooper, flies down to Virginia for the occasion. He swims his 50 meters of backstroke for his team in their first heat, but they don’t qualify for the semis. Blaine comes home to New York, grumpier and more frustrated than when he had left. His father tells him that he’s too serious for a nine-year-old, and that he needs to have more fun. Which is how Blaine ends up with piano lessons.

 

Soon piano lessons turn into violin lessons. And violin lessons turn into guitar lessons. When Blaine begs his father for a harpsichord, he knows he’s gone a little too far in indulging his youngest son.

 

Music is Blaine’s real passion. He doesn’t dare tell his parents when he has the realization at thirteen. By this time, he’s been to two more junior Olympic trials, and last year, had placed 10th in the entire competition in 200m backstroke. He knows his parents love to watch him swim, especially his father. The man obviously takes such pride in bragging to his coworkers about Blaine’s new times each year. And it’s not that Blaine doesn’t love swimming; its that music seems to have taken a hold of his heart, and doesn’t seem to want to let go anytime soon. So, on top of his two-hour morning swim practices every weekday, Blaine joins his middle school’s orchestra, as the only sixth grader to ever play second violin. His dad misses his first performance.

 

So, yes, he keeps his love for music to himself.

 

His parents never hesitate to use his gift at parties though. It’s often that Blaine is called down to his parent’s dinner party to play a few soft tunes on the piano for their guests. He doesn’t mind it though. He sees a future in it. Him, playing for a crowd of people, making people happy. He sees a future in music like his father sees a future in Blaine’s swimming.

 

He goes to Dalton because it seems like the obvious thing to do. His grandfather went to Dalton, his father went to Dalton, his brother—he’s not even really sure that boarding school is the right thing for him until he’s already there. He gets into a routine—swim practices in the morning, classes, piano practice, and then swim again. He thinks that he likes this routine, this sameness, because gives him the structure that he grew up around. That is, until the Warblers throw a wrench into that.

 

He’d never been a singer. He sings in the shower, sure, he duets Duran Duran with Cooper sometimes, he even sings Christmas Carols and plays piano at his parents’ annual Christmas party, but he’s never been formally trained; never performed in front of an actual crowd.

 

Joining the Warblers happens in the most clichéd way possible: a boy, Jeff, hears him singing in the shower of the boys locker room after swim practice one night and demands that they hang out so that they can “blend our beautiful voice box instruments”.

 

Of course, what that turns into is more of a group “blending” session, which is actually, as he finds out, the official practice of the campus a capella group, the Warblers.

 

Before he even realizes it himself, he’s juggling swim and singing, along with academics and keeping up with his music studies; and, in what can be attributed to luck or severe lack of sleep, he makes it through relatively unscathed.


	2. We Could've Had a Meet Cute

“Okay, I have a good one. Would you rather fuck a skateboard or be without your iPhone for a week?”

 

Blaine sputters and almost spits out the diet coke he had ordered from the stewardess.  “Bas, I don’t think you get this game.”

 

“Just pick one.”

 

“Why do I always have to be having sex with inanimate objects?”

 

Sebastian shrugs, and pops a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth. “That’s the best way to do it, killer. Makes everything more interesting.”

 

“More sexual, is like it.”

 

“I don’t see the difference.”

 

Blaine huffs in mock annoyance. “Of course you don’t.”

 

Sebastian laughs and sticks out his tongue, the spitting image of a five-year old boy, despite the nature of their conversation. “You’re stalling.”

 

“You know, Bas, you paint yourself as one-track dirty minded individual, but I’m just waiting for the day your inner-romantic comes out and you fall in love.”

 

“Ha.”

 

“Seriously. I know he must be in there somewhere. Maybe currently being throttled by your libido, but he will find his way out, nevertheless.”

 

Sebastian scoffs, overdramatically bringing his hand to his chest. “Moi? Good luck with that. Maybe in Hell.”

 

Blaine rolls his eyes, but smiles at his friend.

 

He and Sebastian had met at Dalton, and had become fast friends. Well, not that fast. It was only once Blaine got past the uncomfortable innuendos, and the constant daze of general sexuality that surrounded Sebastian, that they moved on towards friendship. Sebastian was a year above Blaine in high school, but had taken a gap year before college so that he could “fuck a boy on every continent”. Blaine doubts he hit Antarctica, though.

 

“You never answered the question.”

 

“Oh. Well. Um, I’d probably um,” Blaine clears his throat, “have sex with a skateboard because I feel like that could entail whatever I’d want it to entail.”

 

“Good choice. And who knows, you could totally discover you’re into some kinky shit that you never would’ve known about otherwise!”

 

“Are you suggesting that I actually fuck a skateboard?”

 

“Not suggesting. Putting it out into the universe maybe.”

 

“Hm.” Blaine pushes the window cover up a bit so he can see out into the clouds. They’ve been in the air for an hour and a half now, about an hour outside of Chicago.

 

“So, any cute boys you have your eye on at school?”

 

“Eh, there’s never an absence of cute boys in the life of Blaine Anderson. But, I’m sure you’re conquests are much more interesting than my lack of such.”

 

Sebastian sits up in his seat a little and digs into his back pocket for his phone, typing on it furiously. “You want to see the new boy toy?” He asks, not looking up.

 

“Well, it looks like you’re going to show me anyway.”

 

Sebastian stops and then looks at Blaine, challenging. He smirks and moves to put his phone back in his pocket, before Blaine gives in.

 

“You know I’m kidding, Bas, just show me.”

 

Sebastian does. The boy is cute, certainly, in all the obvious ways that seem to be attributes of every boy Sebastian sleeps with. “He’s hot.”

 

“Thanks, killer.”

 

“He go to Chicago?”

 

“Yeah,” Sebastian says, bringing the phone back in front of him and smiling gently at the picture, “He’s majoring in neuroscience or some shit. Really smart.”

 

“That’s great, Bas. Congrats on the sex.”

 

“Thanks,” he says, slipping his phone back into his pocket and turning back to face Blaine. “Now we just need to get you laid. You’ve already gone three months of your college experience without popping your cherry.”

 

“You act like I’m a virgin,” Blaine says, annoyed.

 

“You _are_ a virgin.”

 

“Our definitions of virginity must be different, then,” Blaine says, smug and arrogant, clearly teasing. He picks up the GQ in front of him, and begins to pretend to read it. It lasts for all of five seconds before he has to stop Sebastian from making a scene on the plane.

 

“You what?! And you didn’t even tell me?!!”

 

“Sebastian,” Blaine hisses, “Stop yelling. I didn’t do anything. I mean, I didn’t not do anything, I—“

 

“Omigod, you had sex!”

 

“Sebastian, jesus! Voice, level, down, please. I did not have sex.”  

 

“You have to tell me everything!”

 

“I most certainly do not have to share things about my sex life to you in front of a plane load of strangers.”

 

“Oh my god, you have a sex life. This is amazing, Blainey!”

 

Blaine groans and smacks his head back against the headrest of his seat.

 

“It’s not a _sex life_ exactly. Ugh, okay, fine. It’s one guy. And we haven’t, you know, done _that_ yet.” Blaine buries his head in his hands to preemptively prevent Sebastian from seeing his blush.

 

“ _That?_ Blaine, you sound like a twelve-year old boy that’s discovered gay porn for the first time.”

 

Blaine raises his head and smacks Sebastian on the arm. “I’m trying to be tactile. Don’t forget, there are children around.”

 

“Okay, okay, I’ll allow your innocence to remain intact…for now. Just, tell me his name? Give me something.”

 

“You have a great sex life of your own, it’s so strange how you seem to want to live vicariously through mine.” Blaine teased.

 

“Blaine, please.” Sebastian whined, pouting.

 

“Ugh, fine,” Blaine rolls his eyes and then looks down at his magazine lying on his lap. “He’s uh, he’s on the swim team, actually, with me. His name is—“

 

***

 

“Kurt.”

 

“Nice to meet you,” Blaine says, detaching his hand from where it’s been sitting in his pocket, and rests it on the ledge behind the both of them.

 

“I’d have to agree.” Kurt says, smiling.

 

“I mean, I’ve seen you around and stuff before, but, you know, it’s nice to finally be able to put a face to a name.” Blaine felt the blush rise to his cheeks. “Did that sound creepy?”

 

Kurt can’t help but let out a chuckle. “No, Blaine, that did not sound creepy. I’ve seen you around as well. You’re an IMer, yeah?”

 

“Yes,” Blaine clears his throat, “and backstroke. That’s my best one…stroke, I mean.” He doesn’t remember having enough alcohol to make it this hard to form a sentence.

 

“Hm. Like Ryan Lochte.”

 

Blaine laughs loudly, causing a few of the others at the party to turn and look at the boys. “I really hope that’s where our commonalities end.”

 

“Hm.” Kurt gives Blaine a quick once-over, “You wouldn’t even want to have his abs?”

 

“Well, not that it would hurt, but at what cost? I don’t want ten pounds of muscle to mean I lose ten pounds of brain cells.”

 

Blaine knows it’s a dumb joke, and a cheap shot, but Kurt laughs anyway and he’s glad he’s better at flirting than he was at Dalton. It also doesn’t hurt that he has a few vodka sodas in him.

 

“What’s your stroke?”

 

“Fly and Freestyle.”

 

“Michael Phelps.”

 

Kurt laughs. “Well I guess I should be honored, right? I feel bad now that I compared you to an asshole and I got the guy with the most Olympic medals ever. Not too bad. I’ll take it.”

 

Blaine smiles and leans closer, to where he can feel the heat radiating off of Kurt’s body. It’s still warm out, and they’re taking full advantage of the weather before it turns to shit in a month. The music from inside bleeds through the patio doors.

 

“Do you want another drink?” Kurt asks, motioning towards the doors.

 

“Yeah, sure.” Blaine says, finishing off his cup. “Let’s go.”

 

Kurt doesn’t take his hand like Blaine fleetingly wishes he would, but he does lay a soft hand on Blaine’s lower back, leading him in the direction of the living room and the alcohol table.

 

They never get around to another drink, though. First, Kurt runs into his friend and then the two get tied up in a group conversation and then the group disappears and it’s just the two of them, and getting a drink doesn’t seem quite as important anymore. So, they talk. The music is louder in here, and they have to watch each other’s lips closely, which is _not_ a bad thing. Talking turns into dancing chastely, which inevitably turns into Blaine’s back plastered against Kurt’s front, grinding to the beat. 

 

Blaine’s done this before, at some of the raunchier Dalton house parties, even at the occasional kickbacks Sebastian throws at his family’s apartment when his parents are away on business; what he has never done, though, is dance this way with the intention of going further.

 

With Kurt, though, he definitely wants to go further. The taller man’s arms have circled his waist, and his hands are resting past his hips, on the seam line of Blaine’s pants. Blaine’s neck is on display, his head resting back against Kurt’s shoulder, a tantalizing tease for Kurt, whose warm puffs of breath seem to be getting closer every minute.

 

Blaine can just start to feel the outline of _something_ against his lower back, when Kurt turns him around and readjusts his arms to pull Blaine closer.

 

“Hey,” Blaine whispers.

 

Kurt smiles and rubs his hands up and down the length of Blaine’s back. “Hey.”

 

They’re hips continue moving in tandem with each other, and Kurt’s hands move up until they reach the nape of Blaine’s neck, pushing just slightly, until Blaine takes the hint and leans in to meet Kurt’s lips.

 

Blaine’s first kiss had been with a boy named Harrison. They were mutual friends with a girl Blaine had gone to middle school with, Greer, who loved to throw parties during the summer weekends when her parents were away on business trips. He was fourteen, and had just gotten back from his first year at Dalton. It was a fine kiss; they were both a bit tipsy on wine coolers, and Blaine was attracted enough to the boy, but had been so embarrassed in the light of sobriety the next day that he never talked to the boy much since. It wasn’t so much that he was embarrassed to have acted on his sexuality, which he had pretty much been comfortable with since he had discovered his liking for the male form in sixth grade. It was more a feeling of disappointment in himself for wasting first kiss like that.

 

Falling into kissing Kurt is easy, though. Nothing like his kiss with Harrison, or his kisses with his two-week boyfriend Beau his sophomore year, or his failed experimental kisses with the girl from their sister school during one of his more embarrassing drunken nights.

 

Kurt’s mouth is warm and his lips are just on the right side of damp, and before he knows it, he’s swiping his tongue against Kurt’s lower lip, begging for entrance. He’s never been a man of great patience when it comes to kissing. Blaine can feel the sides of Kurt’s mouth pulling upwards into a smile and Blaine backs off, curiously, opening his eyes and drawing them up from Kurt’s mouth to his eyes.

 

“What?”

 

Kurt just rolls his eyes and smiles again, playing with the curls at the nape of Blaine’s neck, that are breaking free from his gel, before pulling him in again, this time, using his tongue from the beginning.

 

Blaine forgets himself, and his hands roam over the expanse of Kurt’s back, venturing lower each time, eventually landing dangerously close to the swell of Kurt’s ass. Kurt leans forward into the kiss and arches his back, encouraging Blaine to go lower.

 

He’s regains consciousness of his surroundings, though, before he allows himself to go that far. He makes up for it though, by breaking their kiss and moving down to Kurt’s neck, nipping softly. Kurt’s hand moves up to tangle in his hair, just resting. As Blaine makes his way back up to Kurt’s lips, he becomes momentarily distracted by his eyes, so focused on Blaine. He preens under the attention, blushing and bumbling for a moment, which breaks Kurt out of his reverie, hand moving in Blaine’s hair again. He pulls Blaine in again, though, this time not to his lips, until his mouth is dangerously close to Blaine’s ear and _wow,_ that should not be such a turn on.

 

“Do you want to come upstairs with me?”

 

Blaine’s so distracted by the puffs of warm ear so close to his ear that he nearly misses what Kurt’s saying.

 

He turns his head in to place a kiss on Kurt’s neck, feeling the boy shiver. He looks back up at Kurt and nods.

 

***

“So how far have you gotten with him, exactly?”

 

“See, I know you’d go for the dirty details so quickly,” Blaine says, curling his feet up under his knees, so that he’s sitting Indian-style in his seat. “I told you, it’s not that interesting.”

 

“It’s interesting to me.”

 

Blaine scoffs. “Of course it is.”

 

“So, what? I’m the sex-crazed, continuously horny, best friend-slash-sidekick. Who better than to tell all the sexy parts to?”

 

***

 

A kiss. Then another. Kurt has him backed up against the door through which they entered the room all of about thirty seconds ago. Kurt’s grip is strong around Blaine’s waist, and moves down to his jawline, nipping his way around to Blaine’s earlobe, where he bites gently. Blaine, ever embarrassingly virginal, lets out a moan that’s too loud to be sexy.

 

He lets his head knock against the door and scrunches his eyes. Kurt seems undeterred, though, still working around his ear. Blaine’s grip on Kurt’s shirt tightens, involuntarily, and his hips snap forward.

 

He hears Kurt chuckle, and he can’t tell yet whether its condescending or incredibly arousing. Maybe a combination of both.

 

Kurt pulls back and runs his arms down Blaine’s chest, stopping at his belly button and moving them so they’re on his hips again.

 

“I don’t know how to ask you to move to the bed without it sounding like a horrible come on.”

 

Blaine relaxes, smiling at the joke. Kurt takes his hand and leads him towards the bed, never breaking eye contact. Once they’ve crossed the room, Blaine feels himself being pushed down, gently, so that he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. Kurt releases his hand and steps back, starting to unbutton his shirt.

 

“I’m assuming this is your room.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Well, I at least hope so,” Blaine says, leaning back onto his elbows, watching the slopes of Kurt’s chest as they’re revealed.

 

Kurt finally reaches the last button and slides his shirt off, placing it over his desk chair.

 

“Don’t worry. I’m a clean freak. You’ll never catch me sleeping or…doing anything else on a random bed. No thank you.” Kurt punctuates the sentence by bouncing down onto the bed next to Blaine.

 

Kurt pouts. “You’re shirt’s still on.”

 

Blaine blushes. “Oops.”

 

“You can’t possibly be embarrassed. I’ve probably seen you shirtless at practice countless times,” Kurt says, playing with the bottom of Blaine’s henley.

 

“Of course, but not in such a…concentrated environment. I’m not embarrassed. Here.” Blaine lifts his hands into the air.

 

Kurt laughs, but follows his lead, pulling at his shirt until its all the way off, throwing it somewhere onto the floor. He lets his hands fall onto Blaine’s shoulders, kneading at the newly revealed skin. He leans in and captures Blaine’s lips once more, pushing his tongue into the boy’s mouth and licking behind his teeth. Blaine wants more, brings his legs up under his body so that he has more leverage, leaning over Kurt, hands falling onto his hips.

 

Kurt starts to scoot back, Blaine following so closely that their lips don’t have a chance to detach, until he’s laying back against the pillows and Blaine is straddling him, knees bracketing his hips. Kurt’s hands find Blaine’s back and pushes him down, so that their chests are rubbing against each other, Kurt’s pale and hairless, Blaine’s very much the opposite. Kurt’s hands move around to Blaine’s chest, rubbing aimlessly before settling on the area around Blaine’s nipples. At first, it’s gentle, just delicate rubbing. At the first unexpected pinch, Blaine’s hips fly down to meet Kurt’s and don’t move from that spot, a moan caught somewhere between his throat and Kurt’s mouth. The triumphant connection of their hips distracts Kurt away from Blaine’s nipples, as his arms roam towards the other boy’s ass, pushing him down while his hips simultaneously move up.

 

Blaine’s arms shake a bit where they’re holding him, and he lets himself fall to his elbows, knees trying to gain traction on the bedspread so he can move his hips with more power.

 

Once they’ve developed a stead rhythm, Blaine allows himself to relax into it, wrapping his fingers in Kurt’s hair. After a few minutes of comfortable rubbing, Kurt flips them over, so that he’s on top, taking control and quickening their movements. Blaine wraps his legs around the backs of Kurt’s knees, keening into the thrusts. It’s an embarrassingly short amount of time until Blaine feels like he’s about to topple over the edge, and pulls back, panting.

 

“You okay?” Kurt asks, leaning up onto his hands, lips red and cheeks flushed.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I just. Don’t wanna…maybe the pants should come off if we’re going to, you know?”

 

Kurt raises one eyebrow and smirks. “ _You know?_ ”

 

Blaine blushes and rubs over his face, Kurt kneeling back onto his haunches, where he’s still straddling Blaine.

 

“I feel like I sound like the epitome of a college freshman right now.”

 

“It’s fine,” Kurt says, moving his hands back to Blaine’s chest, “we all have our moments, don’t we?”

 

“Yes. Anyway, pants off?”

 

Kurt continues rubbing over Blaine’s chest.

 

“As sexy as that proposal sounds,” he says, stilling his hands and looking up to Blaine, “it’s okay for you not to be ready for that. And in my experience, if you can’t talk about sex you’re not ready to have it.”

 

“I can too talk about sex!” It’s only after the words are out of his mouth that Blaine realizes he sounds like a toddler on the verge of a temper tantrum.

 

Kurt laughs and Blaine becomes more frustrated.

 

“Well it’s not like you took me up here to keep our clothes _on_.”

 

“Blaine. Look, I took you up here because I didn’t know how long before I was going to mount you on that dance floor. I figured it be nice to be somewhere more private. There’s no pressure.”

 

Blaine’s hands fall to Kurt’s thighs over his jeans. “Look, that’s very…chivalrous of you. And I appreciate it, I really do, but I liked what we were doing.”

 

“I don’t want you to ruin your pants, Blaine.”

 

Blaine rubs his thumb over the inseam of Kurt’s jeans, thinking. “These pants? Oh, these horrible things? I hate these—“

 

A laugh bubbles out of Kurt’s throat.

 

“—it would be a good deed to society if these were ruined forever.”

 

Kurt rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue, leaning down and giving Blaine a peck on his lips.

 

“You’re kinda cute.”

 

“So are you. Kinda.”

 

***

 

“You caught yourself a gentleman there, Blainers. Just your type.”

 

Blaine smiles and looks down at his phone where he’s pulled up a picture of Kurt to show Sebastian. He’s chosen one of the dangerously attractive shirtless, speedo-barely-covering-anything pictures that Kurt has an abundance of on his Facebook. Show off.

 

“When’s the proposal? It sounds like you’re getting serious.” Sebastian teases.

 

Blaine scoffs and rolls his eyes. “We’re not even dating. We’ve hooked up four times, each while we were somewhat under the influence of alcohol, and we’ve never gotten further than getting off together,” Blaine lowers his voice at the last phrase, barely able to contain his blush, “and anyway, I don’t think he wants a relationship.”

 

“But you do. You’re Blaine Anderson. You’ve always been that type.”

 

“What type.”

 

“The relationship type.”

 

“Sebastian, I’ve had like one relationship ever and we only dated for a few weeks.”

 

“Yeah, but,” Sebastian adjusts his legs and stretches them out under the seat in front of him, “I know you. What you want most is the romantic side of relationships. You’ve always been waiting for your chance to be a main character in your own romantic comedy.”

 

“I—“ Blaine goes to argue, but is cut off by the flight attendant announcing their descent into Chicago, prompting them to put their seatbelts back on.

 

“You can’t argue, Blaine. I’ve known you for too long.”

 

“I understand what you’re getting at,” Blaine says, ever one for compromise, “but, I’m just saying that…I don’t know, just because I don’t have exactly what I want all the time doesn’t mean I’m not happy. And maybe this is the happiest I’ll be with Kurt—in this, friends with benefits but not really friends yet, thing. I don’t know, but I’m happy. So I feel like you don’t have to worry about anything else, yeah? At least, for now.”

 

Sometimes, Sebastian is astounded by Blaine’s insight and general prioritizing skills. And often, he’s amazed at how eloquently his friend can put those things into speech.

 

“Whatever you say, Blaine.” Sebastian says, knocking their shoulders together.

 

And that’s enough to show his support, for now. Soon they’ll arrive in Chicago and go their separate ways, Blaine to Evanston and Northwestern, Sebastian, downtown to University of Chicago. It’s nice to be so close to one another now, because even though they’re practically in the same city during the school year, they’ve rarely gotten around to seeing each other yet.

 

“Thanks, Bas,” Blaine says, tilting his head up to look at Sebastian, “I know you hate when I get sappy. You’re a great friend though. Regardless of how callous you intend on acting.”

 

Sebastian chuckles and relaxes back into his seat as he feels Blaine’s head dropping onto his shoulder.


	3. A New Start

His coaches, of course, hold mandatory practice the morning after they get back from Thanksgiving break. Blaine supposes it should be good for working off the ridiculous amount of food his mother talked him into eating while he was home, but when he’s wakes up to his alarm clock at six am Monday morning, he no longer holds the sentiment.

 

He quickly grabs whatever pair of sweatpants is on top of the pile in his drawer, not wanting to turn the lights on and disturb his roommate. Sam is a really good guy, and super understanding about everything being a student-athlete entails, but Blaine doesn’t want to push his luck.

 

Once he’s dressed himself in a few layers of sweatshirts, he pulls on his beanie, grabs his backpack and makes his way across campus to the athletic center.

 

The walk is long, or at least feels that way thanks to the early morning wind chill on top of already freezing weather. Blaine is exhausted, knows he shouldn’t have stayed up so late last night, but Sam had bribed him with sour patch kids and Star Wars fanfiction, and before he knew it, it was verging on two in the morning.

 

As he enters through the back entrance of the pool, he basks, momentarily, in the wonder that is the humidity of the pool deck.

 

The water is always cold at first. You would think that the countless hours in pools all his life, Blaine would’ve acclimated to the shock when he jumps in; but it’s something that’s never changed.

 

One of the best feelings in the world, though, comes after that shock. Nothing calms Blaine more than the fifteen seconds after he dives in, while he’s gliding under the water, arms out in front of him, legs and body moving almost in slow motion. Everything stops under that water, time seems to stand still for those few seconds, and the sensation of the water gliding over his body gives Blaine the deepest sense of relaxation.

 

Of course, that only lasts for a few seconds, before he’s surfacing and starting to swim. They’re just warming up, some of his teammates still filing out from the locker rooms. He’s in his usual lane, with Heidi, Vin, and Jacob, also freshmen. They had clung together out of necessity at the first practice and have been together ever since.

 

Right as he’s about to turn, he sees someone waving their hand under the water. He surfaces, confused, and moves his goggles so they’re no longer covering his eyes.

 

It’s just Heidi, looking like she’s about to explode with something.

 

“What?” Blaine asks, moving to the side of the lane so that Vin can keep swimming.

 

Heidi smiles, more maniacally than anything else, making Blaine suspicious. “Seriously, you’re making me nervous.”

 

“Just…look,” Heidi jerks her head to the other side of the lane where someone is swimming towards them. Blaine can’t tell who it is at first, but knows it’s not Vin or Jacob.

 

“What? I don’t know what I’m supposed to see.”

 

“You’re seriously telling me you don’t recognize that swim cap?”

 

Before Blaine can even wrack his brain to find some recognition for the bright red cap, the swimmer has already arrived to the backstroke flags and stops where Blaine and Heidi are standing.

 

“What’re you looking at?” And, yes, of course it’s Kurt. Kurt, who is now moving closer to Blaine, smirk plastered on his face. Blaine turns to look for help from Heidi, only to find that she’s long gone, under the water and moving towards the other end of the pool.

 

“Just didn’t realize it was, um, you.”

 

“You didn’t?”

 

“Yah, you’re usually over there,” Blaine says, gesturing in the general direction of the lanes on the far end of the pool.

 

“Eh, it was too crowded. And I figured it’d be fun to mess with you,” Kurt says, and suddenly, he’s pushing off against the wall, and is gone.

 

Blaine looks after him, only snapped out of his reverie by the splashing of another swimmer as they flip turn against the side.

 

“Blaine! What’re you doing?” He looks over to see his coach, red-faced and clearly not happy, and has the decency to flush with guilty.

 

“Sorry.” He says, just loud enough for the man to hear him, before he’s off once again.

 

Most of practice passes by without a hitch—well, other than Kurt’s teasing, which honestly, he should be used to by now. He knows that a lot of the team knows that they’re hooking up (is that what they’re doing?), even though he’s only told Heidi. It’s not like they’re subtle about it. It’s strange, though, Kurt’s not made much contact with him outside of parties and outings with the mutual friends from their team, and he’s never gone this far of blatantly switching lanes to be with Blaine.

 

They’re doing timed heat simulations today, which means a lot of time spent sitting on the edge of the pool and waiting. Blaine’s just finished his 200M backstroke, getting a 2:04:00, a few seconds above his best time, still beating his teammates by at least three seconds. He’s struggling to get his breaths under control as he hoists himself onto the lip of the pool, chest expanding noticeably, as he leans back to grab his water bottle.

 

“Good job,” Kurt says, smiling and splashing his hands into the water before rubbing them over his arms and upper chest.

 

“Thanks,” Blaine gets out, no longer panting, as he focuses on the breathing strategies the sports psychologist Blaine’s dad had decided was a good idea when he was in middle school, had taught him. “You too.”

 

“I haven’t gone yet.”

 

“Right. Well, I mean, you’ll do good. I know you will.”

 

Kurt hums in affirmation and nods his head.

 

Blaine’s about to break the not-so-silent (thanks to the perpetual splashing) silence that has fallen between them, when he hears Kurt’s name being called up to the starting blocks. Blaine smiles at him as he goes, excited to watch Kurt, really watch him swim, for the first time.

 

The thing is, in practice, he knows everyone’s a good swimmer. And most of the time he’s so focused on himself and his strokes that he doesn’t really have the time or energy to evaluate anyone else’s abilities.

 

That is, except for the other boys who swim backstroke. He’d be plain stupid not to know their strengths and weaknesses—they’re his competition, after all.

 

Watching Kurt is an equally enthralling and, dare he say, somewhat arousing experience. Though, Blaine’s found, now that he’s felt the hard outline of Kurt’s cock (through pants, but still) multiple times, many of the seemingly normal, everyday things that Kurt does are arousing.

 

Kurt’s arm muscles flex as he takes his mark, in opposition with the weight of his body, poised on his legs and ready to spring into action at the blow of the whistle.

 

Kurt’s good. That much is obvious from the moment he takes off from the starting block. He has incredible technique, and Blaine is particularly infatuated with Kurt’s ability to make his full body movements seem as natural as walking.

 

He quickly falls behind to fourth place, where he remains steady for the duration of the heat. Not bad, but certainly not the best. He surfaces after tapping the wall at the final lap, and his head immediately turns to the far end of the pool area, where there’s a giant digital clock. He stares at it for a few seconds, and then he’s hoisting himself out of the pool and walking over to Blaine.

 

Blaine had been expecting frustration, but there’s none of that, really. Just Kurt trying to catch his breath.

 

“Good job.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

They fall into silence again as they watch the next round of swimmer start.

 

“I think I’m ready to sleep for the next twenty hours.”

 

Blaine laughs along, and then groans.

 

“What?”

 

“I just realized that it is still the morning and I still have three classes and another practice to get through until this day is over.” Blaine says, dropping his head into his hands dramatically.

 

“Ah, the beauty and torture of varsity athletics in college. Some would call us masochists.”

 

“Yeah, well I would definitely say that about myself.”

 

Kurt sputters, and it takes a few moments for Blaine’s brain to catch up with his mouth.

 

“I—I, I didn’t mean it like that.”

 

Kurt tries to contain his laughter, which only increases at Blaine’s stuttering and flushed face, but can’t.

 

“Ugh,” Blaine rolls his eyes, smiling still. Kurt’s laughter, though at his expense, is still quite infectious. “Your mind is in the gutter.”

 

“Isn’t it always?”

 

Blaine startles at the voice coming from behind him, as he turns to see Ty, a boy he recognizes only because he’s in Kurt’s core group of friends.

 

“You know me,” Kurt quips back, making a gesture to indicate him flipping his hair or something equally as flamboyant.

 

Ty steps in between Kurt and Blaine, and slaps Kurt’s ass before walking away. Before he’s gone, he turns over his shoulder. “Don’t I though?”

 

Kurt laughs, and Blaine can’t tell why he’s so uncomfortable. The feeling soon disappears, though; their coach calls them together, and they do a few more exercises in the pool before cooling down and calling it a day.

 

Blaine is watching Kurt closely in the locker room; of course, not closely enough for anyone to pick up on it. He’s trying to pace himself so that they’ll walk out together. In some respects, Blaine feels more like the incarnation of a thirteen year old school-girl-with-a-crush than he ever did in high school.

 

Blaine walks out of the locker room just as Kurt’s pulling his backpack on, slowing his pace once he exits the pool, looking briefly over his shoulder to look for Kurt, who sees him and waves, running to catch up.

 

“Hey. When’s your first class?”

 

“Uh,” Blaine looks at his watch, “thirty minutes. You?”

 

“9:30, so I have plenty of time. Where are you headed?”

 

“Oh. Well, I have class in the music school, so I was gonna stop by the student center and get coffee on the way. If I don’t, I’ll fall asleep.”

 

Kurt chuckles, understanding.

 

“Don’t doubt me. I don’t even want to admit how many times it’s happened.”

 

“No, no, I get it. My freshman year I fell asleep in my composition class probably at least three times a week. It’s a wonder I didn’t fail.”

 

Blaine nods, and looks over to Kurt, who has fallen into step with him.

 

“So, uh, where’s your first class?”

 

“Oh, it’s all the way over in east campus. I’m an English major so most of my stuff is over there.”

 

Blaine doesn’t question why he’s walking in the exact opposite direction of east campus.

 

“That must be a lot of work, though…”

 

“What?”

 

“An English major? I mean, the sheer amount of reading and writing—it was bad enough, for me, just taking AP Lit in high school.”

 

“Eh, it can be a bother, sometimes. I’m mostly done with the boring analytical classes. I’m have a focus in creative writing, so most of my classes are workshops.”

 

As Kurt shares this, Blaine realizes how little he’s really known about Kurt until this moment; now, these small bits of knowledge have sparked a curiosity.

 

“That’s great. So you want to…like write books? Or do you want to do more screenwriting…?”

 

“Oh, no, I mean, I think I’ll probably just end up working for a literary magazine when I get out of college, but the dream is to write plays.”

 

“Wow, I—wow. That’s awesome! Let me tell you, Broadway needs some fresh faces in writing anyhow. I feel like everything is a jute box musical these days.”

 

“Well, I…” Kurt hesitates and looks over at Blaine. He seems surprisingly…shy. “This is going to sound horribly uncultured of me, but I’ve never actually seen a Broadway show…well, at least, not _on_ Broadway.”

 

Blaine stops in his tracks, causing Kurt to catch himself in surprise. “Are you serious?”

 

Kurt blushes, and starts walking again. “What, can you not talk to me now?”

 

“No, I just, that’s just so…different. I’m just so used to seeing shows on a regular basis. I, oh god, now I seem super conceited and arrogant—I really didn’t mean it that way, I—“

 

“Blaine,” Kurt says, “It’s fine. Really.”

 

They reach the entrance of the student center, and Blaine hesitates in grabbing the door.

 

“Are you, um, coming in here too?”

 

“Yes. Well, if you don’t mind me raining on your party, I figured I’d grab some coffee too.”

 

“Oh, we—yah, totally,” Blaine says, brain working overtime to produce a coherent sentence, what with all of his synapses firing because he and Kurt are getting coffee together and that’s like halfway to a date, right?

 


	4. Shut Up and Dance with Me

Their coffee _get-togethers,_ as Blaine so staunchly refuses to allow himself to call them dates, continue to happen after morning practices for the next few weeks. It’s casual, and they don’t overtly discuss it, but every Tuesday and Thursday, Kurt leaves the locker room with Blaine and together, they walk on the familiar path to the student center.

 

It’s nice.

 

They only ever have fifteen minutes or so to actually sit down and talk, and even then Blaine’s always just about late to his class. It’s the perfect amount of time, though, at least for now; it’s not long enough to allow for awkward silences or a lapse in conversation.

 

Kurt’s actually quite the conversationalist, and once Blaine gets over his initial shyness at actually being alone with Kurt in a non-sexual situation and confusion at Kurt actually wanting to talk to him in a non-sexual situation, the conversation flows effortlessly.

 

Kurt’s from Ohio. Which is really quite strange, considering for the beginning of Blaine’s high school career, the two were no more than two hours from each other. It’s unfortunate, Blaine thinks, that Dalton and Kurt’s high school never competed; not that he’s deluded enough to think they would’ve even noticed each other, but a sweeping high school romance is nice fantasy to have anyway.   

 

They haven’t hooked up since coming back from Thanksgiving Break, even though they’ve seen each other at parties, and despite Blaine’s libido being sorely disappointed, he doesn’t really seem to mind it as much as he would have previously expected.

 

He doesn’t really know where he stands with Kurt, though, after this new development. He thinks they’re friends, they’ve certainly talked enough to be friends, but they’ve never really hung out besides their coffee _get-togethers_ ; and now, now that Kurt’s stopped dragging him away in the middle of parties to take him back to his place and make out and rub against each other, well…

 

They never talk about the sex thing. Or should he say the non-sex thing, because it’s not like they ever really had _sex_ in the first place. Either way, they don’t talk about it. Something for which Blaine is extremely grateful, as he can’t imagine the blush that would paint his whole body pink if Kurt ever mentioned in in public.

 

Still, though, the lack of _that_ conversation serves to make their relationship even more of a grey area than it was before.

 

***

 

It’s December before anyone realizes it, and then it’s the last week of classes, and then it’s exams. Their team still has practice, of course, but now that they don’t have another meet until after winter break, the coaches have kept the practices relatively easy and short. Relatively.

 

They’ve split the afternoon practice time today—long distance and IMers have the first hour, and everyone else has the second. Which, as Blaine begrudgingly notices as he’s getting changed for practice, means he won’t be seeing Kurt.

 

The older boy has become somewhat of a permanent fixation in his life as of late—if it’s not getting coffee together, it’s sharing a lane at practice, or running into each other between classes, or going out to dinner together with mutual friends.

 

It’s nice and amazing and Blaine can’t help but have his feelings solidified each time they see each other—it’s as if Kurt’s face constantly serves as a reminder of Blaine’s crush-slash-actually-maybe-real-romantic-feelings.

 

He showers quickly, just long enough to keep him from smelling of chlorine until he gets back to his room. He’s just finished and wrapped a towel loosely around his waist when he quite literally runs into Kurt exiting the shower stall.

 

Kurt’s grabs at Blaine’s waist to keep his balance, and Blaine finds himself almost falling forward before he catches himself and clutches Kurt’s forearms.

 

 

“Hi.” Kurt says, expression equal parts amused and teasing.

“Sorry, I—“ Blaine says, blushing and finally looking up at Kurt, “I, uh, didn’t see you.”

 

Kurt just smiles and releases his grip on Blaine’s waist, leaning against the cool tile of the shower.

 

“If I didn’t know any better, Blaine Anderson, I’d say you have it out for me. What with hanging me out to dry this morning and forcing me to drink my coffee all by myself. And then, now, trying to knock me out,” Kurt says, dramatically bringing his hand to his chest.

 

Blaine laughs and shakes his head at Kurt’s antics.

 

“I’m sorry about that. Again. But my class was cancelled. It was either coffee or sleep, and I’m sorry but if I ever get the option to sleep my choice will always be sleep.”

 

“Will it?”

 

Blaine nods, emphatically.

 

“Well, Mr. Anderson, challenge excepted,” Kurt says, before winking and walking past Blaine, leaving the locker room.

 

Blaine’s eyes go wide, to the point where he’s certain he looks like a cartoon character; but he can’t even care that he’s standing in the middle of the showers looking like and idiot because he’s completely positive that Kurt just flirted with him.

 

***

“Dude, what’s with the look?”

 

Blaine drops his backpack down near his desk and turns to his roommate, who’s staring at him from his perch on his bed.

 

“What look?”

 

“That dopey, lovesick puppy smile you’re wearing.”

 

“I am not—“

 

“Yeah, you are. You’re literally smiling so wide that your mouth is open. Did you walk all the way from the pool like this?”

 

“No!” Blaine says defensively, but then deflates. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”

 

“Dude.”

 

“Don’t _dude_ me,” Blaine says, grabbing his laptop from his desk and falling onto his bed. “Though this is, surprisingly, not the first time I’ve been compared to a puppy, I’m certainly not lovesick.”

 

“Okay,” Sam says, drawing out the final part of the word. “It’s not a bad thing, bro, it’s totally awesome to be in love.”

 

“I’m not doubting you, Sam.” Blaine says, barely hiding his defensiveness. Sam doesn’t really know Kurt—he’s met him a few times at parties, but Blaine’s never really mentioned him aside from talking about getting coffee—and it’s not that Blaine is worried that Sam would spill his secret. All he knows is that he definitely doesn’t feel comfortable talking about his feelings when he doesn’t even really know what they are. Or, in reality, he’s not ready to talk about feelings that he doesn’t want to acknowledge, that are there and growing.

 

“Oh, Blaine, I was gonna tell you. Some of my buddies from my flag football team are having a thing at their house tonight. It’ll be super low-key. You wanna come?”

 

Sam must be able to see Blaine formulating an excuse, because before Blaine can get anything out, Sam’s already interrupting him.

 

“And don’t spew some practice bullshit because I know you don’t have morning practices on Fridays.”

 

Blaine huffs and doesn’t look up from his computer.

 

“C’mon, bro. Pleasssse?”

 

The one thing Blaine will never get over about Sam is how incredibly uninhibited he is; he has no qualms about begging and whining over the smallest things. It serves its purpose though—softens Blaine enough to get him to agree.

 

“Fine. I’ll go. I can’t stay that late, though, I still have class tomorrow morning.”

 

“Cool, that’s totally fine. Up top,” Sam says, leaning over to Blaine’s bed and holding his hand up in expectation.

 

Blaine’s tempted to ignore him, but of course, as it always is with Sam, he gives in and slaps the boys hand in a high five.

 

“We leave by midnight, though, okay? I really can’t afford to fall asleep in History anymore.”

 

***

 

They get to Sam’s friends house at around 10:30, the party already in full swing. There are a few guys hanging out on the couches in the living room as the enter, all of whom great Sam with fist bumps and high fives and other very straight guy things. Blaine’s waiting for the day when he sees Sam greeting his friends with ass slaps.

 

Sam fills them both cups, and then leads them downstairs in the dark abyss of the basement, where there are throngs of people dancing. Most of the parties Blaine frequents at college are much more laid back affairs, usually just the swim team and their friends, and most of the time there is very little dancing, at least, until later into the night.

 

Blaine likes dancing though; loves loosing himself in the music, and the relative anonymity that comes with being in the middle of a packed dance floor.

 

They make their way into the crowd, careful not to let anyone bump into their still full cups of jungle juice. Blaine allows his body to sway to the music while still holding his cup steady, taking a few sips here and there. He mostly stares at Sam, who, even though he has only consumed less than a few sips of alcohol, is already dancing ridiculously a few feet away from Blaine.

 

When Blaine had asked him about his particular brand of “dancing” after the first night they had gone out together, Sam had responded by saying “Dude, the girls love nothing more than a goofy guy. I’m telling you. The dancing thing, it’s helped me step up my game.”

 

Blaine, of course, knows that the attention Sam is getting from girls is more so from his looks rather than his dance moves.

 

Blaine continues to sip his drink and surveys the room, looking for anyone who he recognizes in case he needs to find somewhere else to stand when Sam starts to make out with whoever his girl of the evening will be. Unfortunately, though, he doesn’t spot anyone. He finishes off his drink with a few big gulps before putting it gently on the ground in the corner of the room, and making his way back to Sam. Luckily, he’s caught the boy before he’s had the chance to _entice_ any girls with his dance moves.

 

Blaine knows the moment Sam spots him coming back over, because a grin lights up across his roommates face—one that makes Blaine quite suspicious.

 

“Dude, dance with me. C’mon.” Sam says, grabbing Blaine’s arm and pulling him closer. He sees that Sam has also abandoned his cup, probably inadvertently. He lets Sam maneuver him until they’re close, but still a respectable friend-distance away from each other. He lets himself get lost in Sam’s happiness and inhibition, feeling the good vibes flowing into his body. It’s almost as if he’s floating when he feels a pair of hands wrap around his hips, and a body contour to his back. He melts into the embrace, in no hurry to turn around and see who’s caught him, content to just dance like this for a few minutes.

 

His eyes find Sam, who is attempting to swing-dance with a girl, spinning her around until she’s almost falling over. That’s another thing Sam had claimed to be amazing for charming girls.

 

Blaine chuckles a few moments later when Sam’s earlier words seem to be proven correct, as he and the girl embrace in a sloppy kiss.

 

Blaine leans his head back against the chest of the mystery man who is plastered to his back. He sways his hips in time with the music, and in tandem with the man on his back, not entirely chaste, but certainly not overtly sexual.

 

He feels puffs of warm breath near his neck and he shivers, stretching his neck out even more in encouragement. Instead, though, the warm puffs come closer to Blaine’s ear, lips barely brushing the sensitive skin.

 

“Hey.”

 

Blaine startles at the sound of no-longer-a-mystery-man’s voice; a voice which he is oh so very familiar with. He snaps his head to look where Kurt’s nosing at his ear.

 

“Hey. I didn’t know it was you.”

 

Kurt looks up and rests his head on Blaine’s shoulder. “You thought you were just dancing with some creepy stranger, then?”

 

“Maybe, yeah. It felt nice,” Blaine says, laying his head back against Kurt’s chest to relax his neck, their hips still moving gently. It’s hard to hear each other over the music, so they don’t talk. They just dance, oscillating between moments of heavy grinding, and moments of soft, barely there touches of their bodies. He almost prefers the latter for the sheer, fleeting moments of romance. I mean, as romantic as moments can get in stuffy, overcrowded basements.

 

He feels Kurt still behind him, and he quickly turns around, curious.

 

“You want another drink?” Kurt asks, gesturing to the stairs. “I’m thirsty.”

 

Blaine nods, following Kurt as the older boy takes his hand and leads him through the crowd and up to the main level, where the air is much easier to breath and the sound level, much more reasonable.

 

Once they finish climbing the stairs, Kurt drops his hand, but quickly readjusts them, so he’s walking in line with Blaine, hand finding purchase on the boy’s lower back. Blaine doesn’t have time to miss Kurt’s hand in his own, because he becomes much to focused on how close Kurt’s hand is to his ass, and how he’s felt Kurt’s hand on his ass before, and boy, would he love to feel Kurt’s hand on his ass sometime again soon.

 

The pass the table filled with alcohol, though, much to Blaine’s confusion, and they end up in the kitchen, with Kurt bending down and searching through one of the cabinets beneath the sink.

 

Blaine’s inclination to ask questions is negated by his enjoyment of staring at Kurt’s ass in his skinny jeans as he bends over.

 

He pops back up, too soon, with a near-full bottle of Grey Goose in his grasp. Blaine’s so confused, he doesn’t know what to ask first. Kurt must understand this, though, and he launches into an explanation.

 

“I know one of the guys that lives here. He always keeps his stash of liquor in one of these cabinets during a party so no one can find it.” Kurt says, smug grin on his face. “Unfortunately for him, though, it’s been found.”

 

“Does this guy know you steal his alcohol at his parties.”

 

“No.” Kurt says, hiding the bottle behind his back. “Can you be trusted?”

 

Blaine raises both hands in surrender, and says emphatically, “Of course. I was ranked most trustworthy in my 4th grade yearbook.”

 

Kurt laughs and brings the bottle back around and sets it on the table, reaching over to grab a few cups. “Well, I guess you’re okay then.” He twists off the top of the bottle and pours generously into both of their cups. When’s he’s done, he hands one over to Blaine.

 

“For you, my good sir,” he says, lowering his head in a mock bowing gesture. Blaine giggles and takes his cup.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Of course.”

 

He takes a sip, and is unable to keep his face from contorting at the burn. He’s forgotten how hard straight vodka is to drink.

 

“You want a chaser there, buddy?” Kurt asks, teasing.

 

Blaine shakes his head, and takes another sip.

 

After the burn slowly subsides, he gets out an, “I’m fine,” which just makes Kurt giggle.

 

They stand there, together, alone, in the kitchen for a few minutes. Blaine knows he isn’t drunk enough yet to make the first move, but he desperately wants to. Kurt just looks so…good tonight. Delectable. He’s not even positive that the older boy’s jeans aren’t painted on.

 

As Blaine goes on about his shit storm of a piano lesson earlier that day, Kurt moves closer, until his hand is finally brushing up against Blaine’s. The younger boy’s words trail off without either of them noticing, and just as Blaine’s sure that Kurt is going to lean in and kiss him, they’re interrupted by a bang in the doorway.

 

“Really, Kurt? Again?”

 

A tall man barrels towards them, glaring at Kurt and pointing to the vodka dramatically.

 

“That’s my last bottle!”  

 

“Well, then it’s good that I didn’t drink all of it then.” Kurt laughs.

 

The boy groans and grabs the vodka, putting it back in its hiding place, before turning around to face the two boys. He glares at Kurt again before turning to Blaine.

 

“He always does this. I’ve tried to stop inviting him to my parties, but _apparently_ he always finds a way in.”

 

Blaine nods, desperately hoping this man does not notice his half full cup of vodka.

 

The man continues to stand in between the two, even after he’s finished his tirade. Kurt tries to nudge him out of the room, but he won’t budge.

 

“Okay, Walt, you can leave now. I promise that I won’t steal anymore drinks.” Kurt says, trying to physically push Walt away from them and into the main room.

 

“No, Kurt!” Walt says, with a flair of the dramatic that only comes with a high blood-alcohol content. “I don’t trust you anymore. So either you leave, or we all stay.”

 

Kurt rolls his eyes, and relents, taking Blaine’s arm and leading him out into the living room, which is, unfortunately, much more crowded. Luckily, though, there is an empty couch, and Kurt runs to snag it.

 

“So, how do you know that guy?”

 

Kurt moves so his legs are pulled up under his body, and leans back into the couch cushions. “Oh that’s a long story. You sure you’re interested?”

 

“Of course,” Blaine replies, “I just couldn’t tell if he was actually mad or like, you know, drunk mad?”

 

“Oh,” Kurt laughs, “no he was actually probably mad. Though, he’ll probably forget about it by tomorrow morning, so I’m not too concerned.”

 

“So you’re friends?”

 

“Kind of. You could say that.”

 

Blaine nods, and glances around the room at the other couches that have filled with couples.

 

“He’s an ex-boyfriend.”

 

“Oh,” Blaine says, turning back to face Kurt. “And you’re _okay_ now?” He can’t help the awkward way the attempt at sympathy comes out.

 

Kurt just shrugs him off, though. “Oh yeah, it’s like ancient history. We dated when I was a freshman. One of the many stupid things I did that year,” Kurt says, rolling his eyes and grinning.

 

“Oh, well, I’m glad you guys are still friends.”

 

“Eh, it took a while, and wouldn’t exactly say friends but we’re both pretty much over it. He was fine when we broke up, I was more of the crazy attached boyfriend.”

 

And apparently they’ve gotten to the over-sharing portion of the night. Kurt sees Blaine’s skeptical look at the last part and is quick to wave him off.

 

“That makes me sound like a psycho. I just meant that he was much less invested in the relationship than I had been, so I took the break up harder. That, and the fact that it was my first relationship ever.”  

 

“Wow.” Blaine’s not quite sure how to respond at this point, but he’s quite sure he wants Kurt to continue. If Kurt’s about sharing, he’s all for it.

 

“How long did you date?”

 

“Four months? I don’t know, it’s hard to pinpoint exactly when we started because it was a grey area for a while,” Blaine chuckles to himself because doesn’t _that_ sound eerily familiar. “Ugh, it’s not that interesting anyway. I’m much more interested in hearing about your love live, Blaine Anderson.”

 

Blaine blushes and shakes his head, looking down into his cup.

 

“Nothing to really tell. I was pretty boring in high school.”

 

“Were you out?”

 

And Kurt doesn’t mean to ask such a loaded question so brusquely, but there’s nothing he can do to stop his over-zealous mouth after the fact.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I was. At home and at school. It was like, a non-issue for me.”

 

Blaine looks back up to Kurt, who has developed a momentary far-away look on his face. The boy comes back to himself, though, as quickly as he had left.

 

“That’s good.”

 

They’ve never had an actual conversation about the gay thing before. While they both knew the fact about each other, they’d never talked about their experiences growing up gay in a sometimes less-than-accepting society.

 

“So, no high school sweethearts?”

 

“No, not really. I mean I technically had a boyfriend, but just…no. It didn’t last long. I don’t count him as a boyfriend.”

 

“Well. You’re at college now. You intend to live it up to the fullest?” Kurt asks, leaning over and shoving Blaine lightly.

 

Blaine laughs and leans his head back against the arm of the couch. “Eh, we’ll see I guess.” He’s bold enough to look right at Kurt when he says it.

 

“Hm.” Kurt smirks and scoots closer to Blaine. “Have some faith, Blaine,” he says, trying to look serious in spite of his notable trouble coming up with words, “things will happen. Let them happen.”

 

Blaine just nods and swallows the lump that’s formed in his throat from Kurt’s words. “Okay. I, um,” he clears his throat, “I will.”

 

“Good!” Kurt says, bouncing a little on the couch before grabbing Blaine’s hand suddenly. “Let’s go dance now.”


End file.
